Marion stared at him while he wrestled with the mental monster that wanted to chew his head off.
“Sir Ayjay is not—”
“Sir Ayjay,” A.J. cut in quickly before she handed his balls over to Matheus. “Isn’t the kind of man who’d force a woman to marry him. I’ve asked her, as a gentleman should, and she said yes.”
There goes the rest of my sanity.
A look of shock, bewilderment, confusion then wonder flashed in quick succession in her expressive eyes. She turned to the notary and nodded. “I do want to marry Sir Ayjay.”
Looking as though someone had just announced the swan had died of scurvy and the duck of gangrene, their host shook his head, clearly disgusted. “Then I have no choice but to challenge you for Lady Marion’s favors.”
An assortment of reactions from everyone else, ranging from shock to disbelief and quite a bit of horror—especially from Marion, who rocked back on her heels and put her hand to her mouth, made A.J. want to demand, “What?”
He snorted a mirthless laugh. “What are you saying? You’re challenging what, exactly?”
“You.”
“Ha! That’s a good one. I’ve never heard it and hell knows I’ve heard them all. Challenge why exactly, I might add?”
“Do you not understand what a duel is?”
“Oh now you’re just begging the question! It’s pathetic, even from you.”
Matheus circled the table and put a hand on the hilt of his sword, which made Hugo twitchy as hell. “I challenge you, Sir Ayjay, in a duel for the right to marry Lady Marion. Is this clear enough for you?”
A.J. knew his laugh sounded cold and cruel but he couldn’t help it. The blasé, cynical demon perched on his left shoulder reared its horned little head and nearly fell off because it laughed so damn hard.
“A real duel? Are you fucking nuts? This has to be the silliest, most juvenile thing I’ve heard…and I spend a lot of time in court, dude. What else, a pissing contest? A duel? Ha! Two grown men actually going down in the mud and swinging pointy sticks at each other when the woman has already made her choice? How’s that supposed to make sense?”
A look of hurt and wounded pride filled Marion’s blue eyes. Now this stung. It really did. A.J. tried to ignore the demon on his shoulder and its call for a good bit of fiery legal rhetoric.
“What, Sir Ayjay?” Matheus asked waspishly. “Is the lovely Lady Marion not worth at least a duel to you? Shall you not fight for her honor?”
Hugo took a threatening step forward. He said something that sounded a lot like, “You wanna get hurt? Which way exactly ‘cause I’m ambidextrous?”, probably offering Matheus a taste of his sword. A short exchange erupted between the two men, with Marion trying to be heard before finally raising her voice. If it made Matheus curl his lip in disgust, it had quite the effect on Hugo, who slid his sword back in its sheath and stormed out of the hall. A door clattered somewhere outside the room.
“Lady Marion isn’t a bone dogs get to fight over. I won’t demean her just to stroke your inflated ego. And I think this meal is over.”
He gave his arm to Marion, who took it with none of the pride or thrill he’d seen when he’d pushed her chair in.
Ouch.
“You cannot walk away from a duel, Sir Ayjay, and I care not what mores you are accustomed to. Here in Sargans, real men fight for the things they covet.”
“Things? Someday, dude, I’m telling you, someday men like you will have it coming across the teeth. It’ll be called emancipation and it’ll put pigs like you back in their sties. Too bad you won’t be there to see it.”
Matheus drained his goblet then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Two days. Then I shall take what is mine with or without a duel.”
“Ha! Don’t you have a dragon to smite or something?” He left before Matheus could add something that’d force A.J. to consider using his fists to settle the argument. He’d never needed to resort to brute force and wasn’t about to start now. Not because of Monsignor Scumbag. Fuck, he could eat three of him before breakfast!
Outside, A.J. tried to ignore Marion’s chilly posture as she mounted her horse, flicked the reins and rode over the bridge the next second. She didn’t even look back. Hey.
“Marion!”
What was up with her?
A.J. was about to claw his way onto his own horse when Hugo grabbed him by the collar and spun him around. A fist in the face made him see stars.
Ouch, shit!
After running his tongue over his teeth and finding nothing missing, A.J. shoved the other man back. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You have dishonored Lady Marion, you foreign bastard!” He cocked his fist for another one.
A.J. decided getting pummeled to death wasn’t part of his life strategy and took a swing himself. He caught Hugo on the jaw—and, Christ, did it ever hurt—but the big man lurched back a step, his eyes flared wide with shock.
Oh not used to another big guy having a go at you, are you, huh?
“I’ve had about enough of you people using me as a punching bag,” A.J. snapped, raising both fists in a fake boxer guard when the big man looked as if he was coming back for more.
But the fight seemed to have left him. He shook his head. “You do not deserve her.”
As much as he tried to argue, A.J. couldn’t help thinking Conan might have a point. He deserved a shallow, superficial woman, one who went for clothes with the shiny tags, cars with the sparkly crests, guys with the expensive suit and not too much conscience. Guys like him. Backstabbing, two-faced, cynical assholes who treated commitment as if it were an open pustule oozing green stuff.
He didn’t deserve Lady Marion. So Hugo was right… Now did that ever suck!
Chapter Eight
How could Sir Ayjay have wanted to marry her but not defend her honor against Lord Matheus? She knew he came from far away… Still, the way in which he had refused the challenge hurt her much more deeply than it should have. The scorn, the ridicule.
Why had she expected anything else? She’d used him after all and lied to everyone else in pretending he would marry her in the first place. He’d been gracious enough to pretend with her for a while—to get in bed with her or not mattered little since she’d wanted it herself. Then he’d even claimed he would marry her, despite his refusal earlier in the morning. As she rode home, Marion gritted her teeth against the tears burning her eyes. Where had her simple life gone?
Without the duel, the charade was over. She had to face the reality of Matheus’ offer. His claim.
She felt like a fish trying to pull away from the hook, even if it meant leaving a piece of itself behind. The lord’s hands on her, his mouth, his…
Marion shivered.
News spread like a foul stench as soon as she reached Sargans. Without waiting for anyone, she jumped off the horse as she crossed the gate and rushed to her study, hoping to drown her pain in work as she usually did. Once there, she shouldered it opened and let it clatter closed behind her. She leaned against it, her eyes squeezed tightly.
“It is not you to run away,” Thomas said, rising. His pale eyes narrowed as he drew near. “What happened with Lord Asshole?”
Tears were falling before she could stop herself. Lean and strong arms encircled her shoulders. She rested her head against his chest, both hands clamped to her mouth to stifle the sobs. Despair threatened to close in around her. Lord, it hurt.
While Marion hiccupped and stammered through her tale, she felt Thomas’ body stiffen with anger or something else, she couldn’t tell.
“I loathe myself, Thomas. I do not know what came over me, I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. All I wanted was to get rid of Matheus.” She knuckled her eyes and nose. “What have I done?”
“A mistake, no more. We all make them. Lord knows I have.”
His gentle voice soothed her nerves and if it couldn’t give her hope, at least it gave her some peace.
“Alt
hough I am not really surprised Sir Ayjay would have refused the challenge, I still find it annoying he would pretend to marry you but not have the courage to defend you. I shall endeavor to shed some light into his pretty, dark head.”
Marion shook her head. “No, Thomas, please do not confront him about this.”
He cradled her face in his long hands and put his forehead against hers. “You only meant to protect your home.”
“I meant to hide behind him, that is what I meant. I am a coward.”
“Shh, of course not. Matheus is vile enough to use his governance to force you into his bed. You must use every tool at your disposal.”
“Sir Ayjay is not a tool.”
“I—”
A soft knock interrupted Thomas.
“Lady Marion,” Thorins said when she opened the door. He held a folded piece of parchment in his gloved hand. “Lord Matheus’ courier arrived shortly after Hugo and Sir Ayjay to deliver this. His lordship insisted the courier stay to wait for your reply.”
“I shall find our Norman guest and speak to him. Lady Marion, please give me a short while to change his mind.” Thomas patted her shoulder.
“I do not think—”
Thomas drew nearer, set his pale gaze on her. “Let me speak to him. Give me time to help him see the right path. He has feelings for you, everyone can see it. One only needs to help him accept them. Should I fail to talk some sense into Sir Ayjay’s charming but hard head then I shall admit defeat and hold my peace.”
She shrugged noncommittally. Her friend seemed sad for a moment then he took his leave.
“My thanks, Thorins. I shall send for you when I am ready.”
The blond man nodded, seemed about to say something but clamped his mouth.
“Anything else?” she asked.
A look of anger flashed in his normally jovial green eyes. He coughed, looked upward as though searching for divine support then shrugged. “My Lady, I would gladly take up the challenge in your name, although I am not of noble blood…I would defend your honor to my last breath. Lord As—” he stopped abruptly, cleared his throat and grimaced. “Lord Matheus has no right to demand this of you. It is indecent.”
Marion’s eyes welled with tears, which seemed to shock Thorins. “My thanks. Your words touch me deeply. But I fear Hannah would not take kindly your defending another woman’s honor.”
Thorins smiled. “No, I daresay I would be in a world of pain. But my offer stands just the same, Lady Marion. I am yours to command.”
“And I command you to live happily with Hannah and have many children as wonderful and cheery as you both are. Now I fear I must read this before it burns in my hand.”
He bowed and left her to face Lord Matheus’ latest demand, for surely this was another.
She broke the seal with her thumb. Within moments, she hurried to the closest chair and collapsed in it.
“That flea-bitten coxcomb,” she breathed. “That…that asshole!”
How could he sleep at night? Her impotent rage translated into the parchment flying across the room. Bits of broken wax clicked on the floor. The levies would be doubled to two tenths of any and all Sargans earnings, even from the wool, which he had never touched before.
First Sir Ayjay had refused to defend her honor—even if she could not really blame him, it still hurt—and now Matheus, that villainous, abhorrent gudgeon, was forcing her into his bed through the most despicable means possible. Marion fought the great lassitude threatening to overwhelm her, sending her tumbling into despair and misery and powerlessness, lost and alone and instead gritted her teeth and forced her spine straight.
Two choices offered themselves to her. She could either wait and hope Sir Ayjay would change his mind and decide to fight for her, which did not bring the hope it should for Lord Matheus was a master at the sword while she doubted her visitor even owned one. As much as her honor and pride were injured, she could not in good conscience expect a stranger to resolve a long-standing conflict between Matheus and herself. And what if Matheus injured her guest? The image of a wounded Sir Ayjay left her cold and shaking. With her handsome Norman lord and any help he could have offered out of the hunt, she was left with only one person able and willing to help her. Herself.
Her second choice, the least of two evils really, rested with herself and her ability to resolve her own problems. She had tried to avoid the inevitable long enough. She would have to grab the devil by the tail—literally—and “give a good tug” as Sir Ayjay had so scandalously put it.
Matheus meant to starve her out of her home. By Lord, he would not succeed. She would not let him.
Sitting at her desk, Marion composed herself, pulled a sheet of parchment closer and wrote a quick note, which she gave to Thorins who stood outside silently glaring at his feet.
“Would you give this to Lord Matheus’ messenger?” she said, proffering the sealed note, which he took with an expression bordering on barely suppressed violence. He clearly meant to speak but she cut him off by raising a hand. “That shall be all. Please make haste and tell Hannah I shall need to get ready for the road at first light tomorrow.”
The horror on his face spoke volumes. She ignored it. Much work awaited her this day for she would be leaving her home. If Matheus thought he would be acquiring a soft-spoken, docile little wife, then Lord help him!
* * * * *
“You have not answered your door all night, Sir Ayjay. How cowardly of you.”
“Oh no you don’t,” A.J. warned Thomas as soon as the lanky man stepped in front of him to block his path. It was enough he’d had nightmares all night, visions of Marion trying to fight off greedy men’s hands. A.J. had woken up about twelve times. He hadn’t needed the woman’s friend to get in his face on top of things. Anyway, ignoring the door was easy compared to ignoring his conscience.
Driver in hand, A.J. walked around him. “I don’t need shit from you too. It’s enough that everyone is looking at me like I’m the devil.”
“Are you?”
“Ah, for Christ’s sake!” A.J. whirled around and leveled the butt end of the driver in Thomas’ direction. “What do you want me to do? Get chopped in half by some demented jackass? Marion isn’t a piece of meat guys have to fight over! I don’t fight over women. Never had to, never will.”
“Why? Is she not worth it to you? Any man here would gladly do it in your stead.”
“Would you?” A.J. demanded as he rolled the sleeve of his tunic up over his elbows.
“Without a doubt.”
“Yeah, right.”
“You do not believe me?” Thomas countered, his narrow chin coming up.
“It’s not you talking, it’s the Testosterone Disease. I have it too, but luckily my survival instincts trip my alarms earlier so I can avoid big heaps of stupid. You know, like rushing headlong into trouble, pissing contests. Death-causing guy stuff like duels.”
A look of confusion spread on Thomas’ face. He shrugged, threw his hands up and glared some more.
A.J. had had just about enough of people staring at him all the time. He had something to do and wouldn’t stand around being bullied into facing a madman with a sword. “Look, as much as it burns me to think about Matheus’ hands on her—and believe me, it burns my ass like nothing else—she’s a grown woman and can make her own decisions. She’s managed to keep him away for this long, I’m sure she’ll find a way again. I’ve offered to marry her, for Christ’s sake, and it ought to be enough to ask from a man!”
“A fine speech, as I have come to expect from you. Is this typical Norman behavior?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That for a Norman, a people I thought slightly more robust, you seem to favor words over actions. Sometimes one cannot talk one’s way out of trouble. I should know.”
“Leave me alone with that Norman shit. And I’m sure you would know all about causing trouble, now wouldn’t you? So are you going to stand in my way all day? Are you going to ch
allenge me for the right to cross the courtyard? Should I go get my fucking sword?”
A look of anger flashed across the man’s pale eyes. “And where would you be going at such an early time while Lady Marion might be preparing to head into the dragon’s lair? Are you leaving or merely hiding?” Thomas pointed at the golf club.
“Into the dragon’s lair or the iguana’s tank? She’s not going anywhere, you and I both know it.”
“Do not underestimate her willingness to do what must be done. She does not rely on words alone.”
“Piss off.”
“Gladly. Shall you tell me where you are going? Or should I dog your steps?”
“I’m looking for a place with a good view of Rat Ass castle. Do you know any?”
A.J. weighed the box of balls, hoping he’d have enough. The entire ride back the day before, he’d been getting increasingly angrier, much more so than he’d ever been in fact. Not just angered…enraged. Where had that come from? Side effects from the concussion, no doubt.
“What sort of view?” Clearly, he’d piqued Thomas’ curiosity.
“A view of the front, where the great hall is.”
“We shall need horses.”
“No, not horses, plural, a horse, singular. You’re not coming with me.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Suit yourself. I don’t care.”
“And therein lies your problem.”
The mordant in the man’s remark cut A.J. deeply. He did care. About a lot of things. Marion first and foremost. He just didn’t want to get skewered by Lord Asshole. Argh, what a mind screw.
“Just take me there and keep the sarcasm to a minimum.”
Mounted once again—something he’d come to hate with a passion—Thomas led him along the road they’d taken the day before, only after about half an hour veered off toward the hill to their left, leaving the tall grass behind and entering the forest of spruce clinging to the escarpment. After a while, Thomas dismounted and “parked” his horse by a thick copse of young birch trees. A.J. maneuvered his own mount beside that of Thomas’, awkwardly patted the beast’s nose—it was very soft—then pulled his driver out of his belt. He’d looked like quite the moron with the club slid in his belt as a sword and the box of balls tucked between his legs. Ha.
Timely Defense Page 13